


Until the End of the Road, Then Your Huge Fuckin’ Smile

by tinydancer



Series: Under Your Skin [2]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-13
Updated: 2013-10-13
Packaged: 2017-12-29 07:49:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1002834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinydancer/pseuds/tinydancer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If this phone call were happening a year ago – shit, if this were happening four months ago, it would’ve been Mickey’s cue to tell Gallagher to fuck off and mind his own business.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Until the End of the Road, Then Your Huge Fuckin’ Smile

**Author's Note:**

> So recent news has me really worried and upset about Mickey’s storyline in s4 so I decided to write something fluffy to make me (and anyone else who needs it) feel better. In my head, they’re still living in a world where the traumatic events of 3x06 never happened. A sort of sequel to For You, And Second Storey Windows but it can be read as a standalone, I guess. Hope you like it!

Mickey’s been awake for almost 22 hours straight when he gets a phone call from Gallagher. He picks it up without checking the i.d though, so he doesn’t know it’s him until Mickey hears a familiar laugh in response to his pissed-off “ _What?”_

“Gee, aren’t you charming,” Ian says and the fucker still has laughter in his tone.

Mickey rolls his eyes. “The fuck you want, Gallagher?”

 “Just wanted make sure you’re not dead on the side of the road somewhere. Don’t want you falling asleep while driving.” 

Mickey grunts. “I’m fine.” 

“Sure you are,” Ian pauses on the other line and Mickey shifts the phone to his left hand, steadying the steering wheel with his right.  “How long till you get home?”

“Dunno,” Mickey squints at the time on the beaten up dashboard. “Half an hour?”

“Don’t speed too much,” Ian starts. “I know the last few minutes are the worst since you just wanna get home but –” Mickey interrupts him.

“I’m not fuckin’ stupid. Not gonna risk getting pulled over with all this coke in the backseat.” 

“If you really weren’t stupid then you wouldn’t have gone alone. I’m worrying my ass off over here.” Ian replies, and Mickey honestly can’t tell if he’s joking or not. 

If this phone call were happening a year ago – shit, if this were happening four months ago, it would’ve been Mickey’s cue to tell Gallagher to fuck off and mind his own business. But a lot has changed in four months, things like following Gallagher and the viagroid to the north side and the subsequent conversation about not fucking anyone else. (Well, Mickey wouldn’t exactly call it a conversation – more like demanding it from each other in between Ian’s thrusts and both their groans.)  And there’s also that kiss in that fuckin’ van and all those kisses that happened afterwards.

So Mickey knows that things have changed, but is that actually a good thing? Fuck, Ian probably thinks it is. Probably thinks they’re _moving forward_ or some shit. But Mickey also knows what it all actually means: that they’re fucked and one day, maybe not today but _someday_ , the other shoe is gonna drop. And nothing will ever be the same. 

Mickey shakes off the fucking baggage that comes with _that_ thought and answers Ian instead. “I’m fine, Gallagher… Look, if you’re so fuckin’ worried I’ll put you on speaker and you can talk me through the last twenty minutes or whatever.” 

“Really?” Ian sounds both hopeful and sceptical and Mickey shrugs, feeling uncomfortable, before realising that Gallagher can’t even see him.

“Whatever, man. Just don’t go on about something lame ‘cause then I actually _will_ fall asleep and get killed.” 

Ian laughs. “Fuck off,” and then he launches into an (admittedly) interesting story about some genius scam he and Lip tried to pull off when they were kids. 

He tries to get Mickey to talk too, asking him about his day. But Mickey’s honestly feeling too tired for this shit and only manages to grunt out. “Just a fuck load of pick ups, nothin’ new.”

“Shit, Mickey I’m trying to keep you awake so work with me here!”

Mickey rolls his eyes but relents. “Some guys tried to rip me off. Had to get all intimidating and shit.”

“Yeah? You show ‘em that no one fucks with Michael Milkovich?” 

“Shit! I told you not to call me that,” Mickey scowls. There’s actually no real reason behind his absolute loathing towards his real name, but no one calls him that and since Mickey thinks it sounds decidedly doucheier, he fucking hates it. 

“All right! Geez calm down,” Ian pauses and then adds. “…Michael.”

“I swear to god, Gallagher, if you don’t want the shit beaten out of you then you’d shut up about now.”

Ian laughs though, seeing right through the empty threat. Mickey takes a moment to remember the good old days when he could properly intimidate the scrawny little redhead working at the Kash ‘n Grab.

“I’m just tryin’ to keep you awake, so whatever it takes.”

“Aye, I’m almost home now anyway.” Mickey says, driving into familiar surroundings. He pulls into the driveway and puts the car in park. He doesn’t get out or hang up though; instead he chews his lip and contemplates saying what he’s been thinking about for a while now. Fuck, Mickey hopes that Ian doesn’t read too much into it.

“Mickey? You still there?” Ian breaks him out his thoughts and Mickey thinks _fuck it_ , he’s too tired for an internal crisis or whatever.

“Wanna crash at the building tonight?” He keeps his voice all casual but Gallagher probably saw right through that one too. Because this isn’t normal. Mickey suggesting they sleep together – not to fuck, ‘cause Mickey’s too tired for that and they both know it – but _sleeping_ together…shit that’ _definitely_ not normal. And Mickey immediately wants to curse his tired brain for even suggesting it. Jesus, does he have no filter or something these days? Mickey’s about 98 per cent sure that it’s only Gallagher that will ever bring out this utterly stupid side of him. 

There’s a pause, Ian obviously surprised on the other line but he covers it up easily. “Yeah, sure.”

Mickey grunts in response and then hangs up without saying goodbye. For a split second he worries that he was too harsh, but then rolls his eyes at himself and wonders when he became such a fuckin’ pansy. Anyway, Mickey feels like he just put yet another piece of himself in Gallagher’s hands when he asked about the sleeping thing – and there’s only so much he can give in such a short span of time.

So he shrugs it off and goes about stashing the new load in the cupboard and taking a quick piss before he leaves (drinking so many cans of red bulls had to take its toll eventually). 

As a last minute decision, he goes to his bedroom and snatches the blanket from the bed, bunching it up under his arm. 

*

Ian’s already waiting there when Mickey reaches their floor. He’s sitting barefooted on the mattress Mickey had pulled up there a few weeks earlier, his head down and fiddling with his phone. It takes Ian a moment to notice Mickey but when he does, he looks up and smiles so fucking big that Mickey just shakes his head. Fuckin’ Gallagher. 

“Hey,” Ian says, still smiling. He scoots over to make room for Mickey on the mattress, even though there’s a whole lot space anyway. It’s a double after all. 

Mickey kicks off his shoes and walks up to the mattress, plopping down on it without ceremony. “So fuckin’ tired, man.” 

“Your own fault,” Ian smirks at him and takes the blanket right from Mickey’s hands. Mickey lies back and closes his eyes almost immediately. Vaguely, he’s aware of Ian putting the blanket over him and if he were feeling more awake, he would’ve complained about not needing to be tucked in or whatever the fuck. But Mickey can already feel consciousness slipping away from him as the entire day catches up, and Ian’s body is warm next to his. Mickey can feel the redhead’s long arms slip around his waist cautiously and Mickey doesn’t even _try_ and put on a show of resisting it – which really shows just how far gone he is.

He feels the ghost of a kiss on the back of his neck. For a moment Mickey thinks he’s already dreaming, but Ian’s voice is too soft and too real when he speaks.

“Hey, sweet dreams, Mick,” Ian’s breath tickles his skin. Mickey wants to snort and tell Gallagher how ridiculous he sounds. He doesn’t though. 

In his semi-consciousness, Mickey lets the fondness he feels for this stupid, freckled seventeen-year-old boy wash over him in a way that he never allows when he’s fully awake. It takes over his body until the muscles on lips twitch and he falls asleep fucking _smiling._ And with Ian Gallagher’s nose buried in his neck.

 


End file.
